An Impermanent Thing
by Kyrotec
Summary: "Two years of school- a significant portion of your youth. With every exciting class, with every heart-pounding event, you grew closer and closer together." - Junko Enoshima. Stories from the pre-despair years. Each chapter from a different character's perspective. Might include mild shipping.


**Summary: ****A pre-despair day-in-the-life glimpse of Hope's Peak Academy. Told from Fukawa's point-of-view.**

**A/N: Thank you to my beta, vikumiru, for checking this story for consistency. **

The blurry image of the ceiling above her bed met her eyes as they slowly opened. Fukawa drifted gradually out of the dreamworld she'd been lodged in moments before. She didn't move, instead staying as still as possible, as if that would somehow allow her to reabsorb the dream she'd been having. She thought it had been a good dream, but she couldn't be sure, especially since she recalled less and less of it with every second she spent awake.

She blinked away the sleep in her eyes as she slowly sat up in bed. At once a surprising series of aches and pains overtook her, seeping into her joints. She reached for her glasses, which should have been on her nightstand, but as her fumbling hand discovered, weren't. She let out a small sigh and peered over the edge of her bed. She couldn't see much, but she could just make out the vague outline of her glasses against the carpet. After a couple tries that involved her nearly tumbling out of bed, she clumsily retrieved them and set them on her face.

One possible reason for her lack of quality sleep entered her field of vision, giving her a nasty start at the first sight that caught her eyes. As she looked around, she could see that one of the cardboard boxes she normally kept in the back of her closet had been moved out into the open and violently torn into. The thick packing tape she used to keep it shut had been sliced cleanly through multiple times and there were scars in the side of the box. She didn't need to guess who had made them. She carefully surveyed the remainder of the room, inwardly uttering pleas that she wouldn't find anything else. She didn't see that any of the contents had been displaced from the cardboard box, but she did see, to her vast discomfort, a metal file lying on the floor a few feet away. She didn't know exactly what the file was used for. She assumed it was for fashioning the scissors.

A cold wave of sickness rolled over her. She shoved the covers off of her to expose the rest of her body. Her heart beat heavily, painfully, as she studied her legs, which were presently concealed by the cloth of her nightgown. With shaking hands, she clutched the hem and yanked it up, revealing her upper thighs to herself and the room. She had to force herself to look, and even so, her eyes took time in navigating to that exact spot. She stifled a whimper as she counted the marks, breathing a sigh of relief when she noted that there were no more than before. Feeling a greater sense of ease now, she ran a trembling finger across the healed marks, observing their bumpy ridges. Then, a wave of pure disgust at her state overtook her, and she covered herself up at once.

She rose out of bed and moved over to the box on the floor, studying it only for a second before she turned and raced to her dresser, got out the packing tape again, and went to work resealing the box. She taped over the seal two additional times in what was perhaps a desperate gesture aimed at Syo, then collected herself and shoved the box back into the closet, wedging it as far in as it would go before burying it under several of her other possessions. She emerged from the closet, and then ran and scooped up the file from the floor without bothering to look at it. She could feel the metal shavings coming loose from its grooves and settling on her hands as she carried it to her dresser.

She yanked open the bottom drawer of the dresser and peered inside. It was where she kept things such as long underwear and outfits she had rare occasion to put on. She peeled up the stacks of clothes and shoved the file underneath them, hearing it clack as it dropped against several other tools she had already stashed in the same location. She had long since resigned herself to simply putting these types of items back in place whenever she found them.

Deciding that these things had been adequately disposed of, Fukawa paused and tugged lightly at her braids as she considered attending to her sore muscles. Her forearms and shoulder muscles were of particular concern. Maybe a shower would help? She looked at the clock. She probably didn't have time for a full cleaning, but she might be able to spare a few minutes to let the stream of warm water soothe her aching frame. She turned and headed to her shower room.

She nearly choked as she entered the room and spied the message waiting for her on the small mirror above the sink. There, planted clearly at eye-height, was a short note addressed, she supposed, to her:

**Gloomy-**

** Buy more pens. Had to use them all. Don't ask. :)  
Love,**

** Syo.**

The inkwell on the floor by the sink confirmed that the message was written via a forefinger dipped in black ink. Fukawa examined her hands for the first time that morning and spotted a line of discoloration about an inch up her index finger, and noted at the same time that the fingernail had been blackened around the bed. Syo had clearly tried to clean her hands afterwards, but as usual _she_ was still left with evidence. She looked at the mirror again. The box and the file had been one thing. What if she was subjected to some surprise inspection? How could she explain this?

She ran to the tissue box outside the bathroom by her bed and tore a chunk of paper out, which she then used to scour, as best and as quickly as she could, the request from the surface of her mirror. She ran the tissue in water and scrubbed it heartily against the surface of the mirror until the wet paper disintegrated in her hands, then she ran to retrieve another chunk. It took emptying the tissue box and using a discarded bathmat to finish the job. Even then, she wasn't completely able to obliterate the offending words from her mirror. However, she was able to get close enough, thankfully, that it wasn't discernible that they had actually been words in the first place.

She wandered out of the bathroom again and would have collapsed on top of her bed if not for the knowledge that she had to leave for class in the next few minutes. Her arms hung by her sides, limply, as she scanned her room for her bag and uniform. She found them in a heap, piled one on top of the other near her dresser.

She put a hand up to her collar and used it as a handhold as she lifted her clothing off, over her head, slithering out of the sleeves, until her bare body was exposed to the cold room. She grabbed up the baggy brown sack that was her uniform and did her best to shake and smooth the wrinkles out of it before she threw it on over her head. She had forgotten about her glasses, and had to catch them with one hand inside her dress when they were knocked off, while the other was halfway through the sleeve. Once she was finally fully dressed, she grabbed up her leather satchel, heaved the strap over her shoulder, and headed out of the room.

About three staircases later, she realized that she had forgotten to take all of her textbooks from the prior day out of the satchel. She didn't have time to go back to her dorm room and deposit them, so she opted instead to stop at her locker. She rarely used it, and so she had to wrack her brain a little to remember the combination. A cloud of dust billowed out as she disturbed the contents, causing her to have to hold her breath and close her eyes for fear of sneezing. She stood in darkness with her lungs burning, waiting for any sensation that would tell her when the particulate had resettled itself. After a moment or two of internal approximation, she opened her eyes, and started.

The view of the locker was eclipsed by an elaborate but nonetheless crude rendering on a piece of sketch paper, of a girl with enormous breasts, clad in an outfit with an abnormally short skirt. The cat ears and tail she sported, Fukawa could only guess, were supposed to make her appear 'cute' as she licked her 'paw' while her blue tail twisted suggestively between her legs, drawing the eye back down there should it be tempted to linger where the front of her blouse was torn open such that her chest was almost completely exposed. She was kneeling in such a way that it allowed the viewer a glance up her skirt, nearly to where the panties would have been, assuming it was the intention of the artist that the girl be wearing them in the first place.

Fukawa let out a yelp and instinctively jumped backwards, clasping both hands over her mouth. This display was met with laughter. She only had to look slightly to the left to see who had shoved the atrocious image into her vision. Leon Kuwata bared a gleaming set of pearly-white teeth at her as he, joined by the likely artist of the piece, Hifumi Yamada, gaped at her.

"Dude! You were right! Look at her face!" came the athlete's hyena-like cackle.

They exchanged glances, looking back and forth between her themselves and the drawing, and to Fukawa's great resentment, drawing more laughter from the situation each time their eyes landed on her face.

Her hands curled into fists and her upper body shook. "Y-you vermin!" she spit out, noticing with some satisfaction that they fell silent at her words. She could feel her face getting red. That and the heat rising out of her collar only intensified as she screamed into the hall, "Don't you have anything better to do with your miserable lives? Y-you t-think f-forcing such liscentious material upon me is amusing? You- you- insects!"

Kuwata and Yamada's collective amused countenance was traded for a look of confusion. Kuwata scratched his head. To his right, Yamada adjusted his glasses with an expression on his face that Fukawa, to say the least, didn't care for.

"Chill, Fukawa! We were just messing around!" Kuwata protested, throwing his hands up.

"I d-don't care what you think you were doing!" she retorted instantly. "If this is your idea of 'fun,' I w-want nothing to do with it! W-with either of you! Y-you two are nothing more than the byproduct of depraved, impure, degenerate factions of humanity! Y-you disgust me!"

"But Master Touko Fukawa, we..."

Fukawa slammed the locker door shut as hard as she could in an attempt to cut him off. She grabbed up her things and stormed off in the direction of her next class, careful not to look back, before they could say or do anything else to her.

Almost all of the desks in the classroom were full by the time she arrived at her first class. Careful to keep her eyes off the faces of the students who turned to look at her, she quickly sighted the one open table near the back of the room and made a beeline for it. She navigated through, passing her classmates carelessly, other than to recalibrate her steps around their belongings, which were all _stupidly_ piled up in the aisles. She slid into the seat next to the window and set her bag on the floor, against the wall behind her. She folded her hands in front of her and focused her attention on a small scratch in the surface of the table, dutifully forcing herself to blot out of her consciousness the murmurs around her which she was _sure_ had to be about her arriving so late.

She was pulled from the recesses of her thoughts when someone jostled the table. She looked up to see Mondo Oowada,_ that oversized loudmouth of a biker_, drop his things on the floor before taking up the seat next to her. He was talking to the teacher up at the front of the room who had also just arrived.

"Don't worry, just take your seat..." the teacher said in regards to something Fukawa hadn't been paying attention to.

Fukawa looked away before she could accidentally make eye contact with Oowada, and contented herself with staring out of the window. She kept her attention on the teacher's voice, which proved important since the very next thing they did was announce that today they'd be working in partners on a lab assignment. Fukawa wanted to spew some choice insults in the general direction of the person who had come up with that lesson plan.

The sounds of a massive wave of papers shuffling came creeping back to her and she turned just in time to see two packets of lab instructions slide across the table where she sat. She briefly glanced around. At the table behind them, Kazuichi Souda and Gundam Tanaka divided up the last two packets. Slowly the sounds of paper rustling died down around the room.

Oowada took one look at the instruction packet and promptly put his feet up on the desk. "I'm not doing this," He announced in a dull tone. He peered down at Fukawa, "You can handle it, right?" As the soles of his shoes found their way into her personal space, Fukawa seethed.

"Yes..." She hissed begrudgingly.  
Oowada seemed content with the answer, and apparently decided to ignore the dripping resentment in her words. "Good. There's no reason my grades should suffer just because I don't feel like wasting time on some lab assignment."  
Bile clouded Fukawa's senses and venom was quick to encase her tongue. She spit out, "You couldn't possibly _comprehend_ wasting time on anything, you _mindless ogre_."

As soon as it had left her mouth she knew what she had done. However, her survival instincts faltered and she was rendered helpless as the next set of events unfolded.

Oowada's face was in hers so quickly she couldn't even remember the span of time it took him to remove his feet from the desk, plant them on the floor, and assert himself so close to her that she was pressed fast against the wall while he loomed in front of her and screamed in her ears. "WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?"

Fukawa couldn't reply beyond a strained whimper.

He felt the need to repeat himself, "What did you say to ME?"

Fukawa squirmed in place. Her heart was beating in her throat and in her teeth. She pressed herself into the wall, writhing as she willed herself to pass through it to get away. He eclipsed her view every way she tried to look, so she shut her eyes.

"Listen here, you little piece of trash," he addressed her, loudly. "The only reason I'm not layin' into you right now is my big bro taught me to never hit a girl."

A sound slid out of Fukawa's mouth.

"What's that? You got somethin' ELSE to say?"

"Mondo..." Sakura Oogami's words, despite being spoken softly, were enough to command the attention of half the room. Her intimidating form towered over the desks as she stood. "That's enough. Leave her be."  
"Are you fucking nuts?" Oowada protested, "Did you _hear_ what she said? No way am I going to tolerate that kind of disrespect!"

"It's just Fukawa," Hagakure offered from another spot nearby. "She doesn't mean it."

Fukawa clenched her teeth as everyone looked at her. Anger and desperation boiled within her. She _did_ mean it, that was the terrifying part. Even if she didn't know _why_ she meant it, she still meant it, and often she seemed to be completely powerless to stop any of it from coming out. She could hear the pleading notes in everyone's voice, informing her each in their own casual way that if she didn't stuff it she was going to get her face beaten in. She knew she should stop but didn't know if she _could_. She glared up at their faces. Just once, she thought, she would like to let _them_ feel intimidated. If they only knew what was lurking inside her, if she could show them, if she could just switch... She banished those thoughts as a chill washed over her. She knew she couldn't think like that. That would spell disaster and if she lost what little control she had, it would simply equal more terrifying mornings waking up in strange places with steel pressed between her legs, more scrawling writings she didn't remember pressed in between the pages of her textbooks, and more time spent contemplating a life that evaded her memory.

"That's just the way she is," Asahina chimed in.

Fukawa bit herself, trying not to retort with more names at the brunette. She peered upwards around the corner of her glasses, watching Oowada as he mulled over the words that had been fired at him. Panic intertwined with somewhat sound reasoning, and Fukawa seized her chance to escape. She slammed her hand down on the desk and took off running, startling, as far as she could tell without really looking back, most of the people in the class. She hurled herself forward, weaving through desks, and bolted through the open door into the hallway. Mondo's angry reaction to this faded gradually behind her as she sprinted away from the classroom. Her eyes stung and her vision blurred through building tears, which were only helpful for distorting the shocked faces in the maze of bodies she had to navigate through in the hallway. She blinked and her vision cleared as she neared the bathroom door. She could feel the saltwater rolling down her cheeks as her hands collided with the surface of the door. It gave, allowing her entry to the washroom. Inside, Ibuki Mioda and Chihiro Fujisaki were having some conversation by the mirrors. She couldn't have cared less what it was, and they stopped it anyway to look at her, no doubt once they saw her _disgusting_ tearstained face. She aimed for the only open stall she could see and pulled the door shut behind her.

Once inside, she stopped and inhaled, wincing as she did so from the foul odor that invaded her nose. She turned around and looked down at the bowl. It was clouded with urine and stuffed with toilet paper so that it could not be properly flushed. She sniffed at this, realizing this was the reason the stall had been unoccupied. She slammed the toilet lid down and gathered herself on top of it, clutching at her skirt and bunching it up so it couldn't be seen under the door, ignoring the smell as best she could as she settled into her own thoughts. Finally alone and in a relative amount of peace, what she'd been able to hold back of her tears came pouring fourth. Full sobs arrived and wracked her body hideously. She was fully prepared to plunge with her thoughts into an isolated sea of negativity and remain there for the day, when...

"F-Fukawa?" came Fujisaki's voice on the other side of the door. A gentle tap could be heard on the metal. "I'm sorry... but..."

"Go away!" Fukawa hissed loudly, "J-just leave me alone! I'll open the door when I feel like it!"

"Fukawa," Mioda called as her boots joined Chihiro's shoes under the door, "Ibuki and Chihiro could tell that you were crying when you came in. We just want to cheer you up."

"I d-don't need cheering up! I don't n-need your insufferable PITY!" Fukawa roared in response, balled fists shaking as she held her dress. A fresh batch of angry sobs were held back behind her emotional dam, ready to come out as soon as they heeded her orders.

"We just want to help," pleaded Fujisaki.

Fukawa slumped over herself and heaved from her lungs a very drained utterance. It would have ordinarily been screeching, but she was too tired. "Go away."

There was silence on the other side of the door, and then she saw them shuffle away. She let herself fall back into the corner of the stall. The metal pipes from the toilet dug into the middle of her back as she leaned on the wall. She shifted position until she had wedged her shoulders into the corner. Fully braced against the cold tile, she let the tears fall and the crying consume her entirely, coursing through her body, making her shake and tremble, until she was certain every drop of moisture in her _pathetic _spindly body had been wrung out, and there was nothing left to cry over.

It took hours.

When she emerged from the bathroom, the hall was empty. The light coming in from outside was dim and the interior lights hadn't come on yet. She had missed the rest of her classes by now, she knew that much.

She combed her hair back with her fingers, looking around nervously. She really didn't want to run into anyone right now. On the extremely, monumentally unlikely chance that the entire school _didn't_ already know how she had spent the day, she didn't want to be seen to be pulled into an aggravating conversation because of her swollen face and smeared glasses.

She took several precautions as she navigated the hallway, always looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her, and carefully around each corner before she passed it. She thought she heard someone call her name at one point, which caused her to nearly trip on herself as she bolted down the staircase.

Finally, she sighted the entrance to the dormitory corridor. Throwing away the cautionary measures, she made a breathy run for it, launching herself into the open treadway. Her shoes clapped loudly against the floor, but this was permissible as stealth was no longer her concern. She bounded around the corner and was about to breathe a sigh of relief when she had to freeze in her tracks.

There he was.

There _**he**_ was. The glorious, eloquent, magnificent Byakuya Togami stood about three-quarters of the way down the hallway, having a conversation with M-Ma-ko—to? Makoto N-Naegi? She couldn't be certain she was remembering the name correctly, which she thought was fair given there was nothing especially remarkable about the other boy. Her white knight stood at the door to the plain boy's dorm room, engaged in what appeared to be a very stern, serious interchange. Fukawa gasped inwardly. This wasn't like him. Normally at this hour he was in either his dorm room, in the library, or occasion permitting, eating alone in the cafeteria. She knew to see him out at this time, associating with the likes of Makoto Naegi nonetheless, was unprecedentedly rare. She stood there and absorbed the expression on her prince's face, watching his lips move and his blue eyes bore into Naegi, sharklike, as he continued the discussion. As it was, neither he nor Naegi acknowledged her presence, which might have irritated Fukawa under normal circumstances, but circumstances involving Togami were anything but "normal." His presence cast a glow over everything that made the dingy place they were in shine like the sun. It enveloped Fukawa in warmth, and for the moment banished all negative thoughts from her mind.

"Fukawa!" A voice cried out, cutting through the nice feeling unpleasantly.

Fukawa turned to see where the voice had come from, only to see Aoi Asahina come jogging down the hall from which she had just come. Fukawa's insides lurched and twisted into a sick, cold knot when she saw her own satchel bouncing around in the athlete's hands.

"Fukawa! You left this in class this morning!" Asahina sounded deeply concerned. She came skidding to a halt right in front of Fukawa and shoved the satchel towards her with a ridiculous look of pride on her face. "I was worried some of the others might try to look in it, so I took it. Don't worry, though, Sakura and I guarded it all day! Are you feeling better?"

Truth be told, Fukawa had stopped listening after the leather bag had been placed in her hands. She stared back at Asahina with eyes that were still puffy, unable even to mutter a "thank you." She thought bitterly that she would have to check the bag's contents to see if anything was missing, and if it was, this girl and her monstrous pal would be the first to receive her blame. However, none of these thoughts ever left her mouth. For reasons she wasn't even completely sure she could name, she adamantly refused to acknowledge the gesture.

Her silent staring evidently succeeded in making Asahina uncomfortable. When it had been a while and Fukawa hadn't answered, she cleared her throat a little and then announced that she was leaving, sidling off and mentioning something about "practice" before bolting towards the school's front doors. Fukawa didn't bother to watch her depart.

Relieved, Fukawa turned back to face the dorm hallway and was stunned to find it vacant. The door was now closed and her precious Togami was nowhere in sight. She scowled deeply when she noted that she felt like crying, again. She took a few steps down the hall, looking all over and straining her ears for any sound that might lead her to him. After searching desperately for a few minutes, she sighed, clutched her bag tighter to herself, and trudged solemnly off to her room.

Hours later her fingers plugged away at the typewriter within the calm, quiet sanctuary of her room. Not wanting to focus on the day's events had given way to her spending the evening in a fantasy world of her own creation, investing so much time and becoming so entrenched in her latest romance story that she couldn't feel the hunger from having skipped dinner. As typed papers piled up next to her, she surmised that she was probably several days ahead of schedule by now and should have no problem meeting her next deadline. At this, she breathed a sigh, and plunged herself into the last paragraph of today's installment.

Once she had finished crafting a detailed description of the heroine of her story blowing out a candle, she found the muse had left her and decided this would be an opportune time to take a break. She stretched a little and looked around the room. Aside from the few reminders of Syo's latest excursion, nothing in her room seemed _too_ apt to harm her. She climbed out of her chair and paced across the room, looking at everything. There were all her awards stacked on shelves, scraps of paper with different ideas pinned to the walls, candles and little romantic artifacts she'd stashed away for "inspiration" littering every spare corner of the room. If not for the dark fragments of her life that she knew had to be scattered under these wonderful trophies, this space might have been a blissful one. As it was, however, the knowledge of the existence of those fragments clouded out the good, leaving her feeling suffocated, even here.

As she scanned the room some more, she caught sight of a peculiar piece of paper lying on the floor. It was not written in her handwriting, and as she examined it further, she knew it must have been slipped under the door crack sometime while she'd been working on her writing. She grit her teeth and stormed over to it.

She had been expecting a notice, an advertisement for the idiotic dance, or some taunting note that her classmates had simply failed to stick to her back while she was outside the room. She was summarily surprised to find that it was none of the above. It read:

**Dear Fukawa-**

** I have an urgent need to meet with you.  
Join me in the botanical garden at midnight tonight.**

** Do not be late.**

** Sincerely,  
**

** Byakuya Togami**

Fukawa read the signature over and over again, heart pounding out of her chest as elation threatened to carry her away. Togami wanted to meet with her? Could she be dreaming? She had been relatively sure up to this point that he hadn't dwelt very much on her existence. That was no matter to her. She clutched the letter to herself, memorizing even its smell which, though it was nothing more than the scent of ink and pulp, quickly took on a special connotation for her.

"Ooh... Togami..." she moaned into the silence of her room.

Her eyes shot open and she looked frantically to the clock. He had said midnight, hadn't he? That meant she had fifteen minutes to make it to the botanical garden, if she was going to do so. Her mind readily scoffed at the 'if' she'd thrown in there, but something still bothered her. Surely Togami knew that it was forbidden to set foot outside the dormitory corridor at this hour, and yet.. _he_ was willing to do so, and expected her to join him? To meet him all the way upstairs in the botanical garden?

She looked at the clock again, paling when she realized that now she only had thirteen minutes until midnight. She couldn't be indescisive about this. Togami never was. She thought about it, and reasoned that his elite social and mental status meant that he likely bent the rules to suit his needs. Perhaps, she thought, if he truly expected her to arrive on the same level as him, to eventually be _his girlfriend, _he had orchestrated this as some type of romantic test, to see if she would, or could, do the same. If that was, by any marginal chance, the case, she couldn't bear the knowledge that she had _failed_ such a test simply by refusing to go.

She folded up the paper and stuffed it into the front of her shirt. Taking shaky breaths, she exited her room and, quietly as she was able, shut and locked the door behind her.

The hall was mostly quiet, save for some random shouting and crashing noises coming from further down the hall. Fukawa rolled her eyes at this, though she realized and was thankful for the fact that the commotion behind her meant that most of the people who might have interfered with her delicate operation were likely occupied elsewhere.

She studied the vacant hallway for a few more seconds, biting down on her thumb. Then she removed her hand from her mouth and took off at a mild sprint, heading for the dormitory exit. She cringed as the sound of her own footsteps came back to her at a deafening volume. She paused, and then took off again, bouncing onto her tiptoes to run in an attempt to mitigate the noise.

Once she was out of the dormitory wing and in the main hallway, a feeling of dread encompassed her. She knew it was because she had crossed the threshold that meant she was violating one of the more serious school rules, but the knowledge alone that this was the cause was not quite enough to quell the feeling of panic. Still, she couldn't go back. Through quick estimation she surmised that she had about ten minutes to make it from the front hallway to the botanical garden. She swallowed. She couldn't afford to stop and think about what she was doing, as that would only slow her down. She spied the first staircase at the end of the hall and broke off running for it, with a reluctant grunt ambling up onto her tiptoes again so she'd be less likely to be heard.

When she reached the staircase she braced herself on the railing and, quietly as she could, stretched her legs out with each stride to take the steps two or three steps at a time. Togami was waiting for her. She couldn't keep him waiting. She forced more power into her stride and daintily gripped the rail, pleased with herself that she was able to stay quiet, for once, as she did this. She reached the top step and climbed up happily. She was on the second floor now, with eight minutes left, probably.

She took a quick look around, holding herself still as she listened for the slightest noise. This was no easy feat with the blood pounding in her ears the way it was. Hearing nothing, she charged forward, angling her body towards the next set of stairs.

"Stop right there!"  
Fukawa recognized the voice. She halted, briefly, and then in a panic as she thought of Togami, attempted to run again. She heard footsteps behind her, but couldn't make hers go any faster as she trudged up the next staircase. The footsteps came louder, faster, closer. Then a hand clamped around her upper arm. Furious and horrified, she turned to face her pursuer.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru stared at her with a severe expression on his face. "Touko Fukawa! What do you think you're doing out here at this hour? Traversing the school halls at night is strictly prohibited!"

Fukawa glared back at him, feeling a boiling rage mounting in her gut. She stared with resentment at his hold on her arm. "I _know_ that, you imbecile..."

Ishimaru seemed unprovoked by her response. "You have violated school rules! It's unfortunate that you show such disregard for these things!"

She only curled her lip at him in disgust.

He responded by yanking swiftly on her arm, "Your displeasure is noted, but irrelevant nonetheless! I shall show you to the headmaster! Hope's Peak cannot tolerate such blatant rebellion and disregard for it's rules! Justice must be served!"

He seized her other arm and then proceeded to guide her torso and body movements as they both ascended the staircase. Fukawa twisted her arms, but this didn't break his hold. Feelings of humiliation and frustration swamped her mind, made worse by the thought that somewhere up on the fourth floor, her love was waiting for her.

She resigned herself to the consequences of her actions, reasoning that it was stupid of her to think that _she_ with all her experiences to the contrary, had thought that she could have kept from screwing this up. Of _course _she had been caught.

She barely noticed when they had reached the top of the staircase, except that she was pulled from her thoughts by the voice of Kyouko Kirigiri.

"Hello Ishimaru, Fukawa," she spoke clearly, making her presence known.

"Ah, Kirigiri!" Ishimaru cheerfully replied, "It's good to see you, but I'm afraid I cannot talk now! Fukawa has broken the curfew and according to the school rules must be delivered to your father's office immediately!"

Fukawa spoke up as something occurred to her, "W-wait! Why does she get to roam around?"

"That is not the question here!"

"That's all right, Ishimaru." She looked Fukawa in the eyes and calmly explained, "I have special clearance from the Justice Department. I was just getting back in from an investigation. I'll be on my way to bed shortly. Does that clarify things?"

Fukawa was silent.

"Your explanation was more than gracious!" Ishimaru answered for 'them.' "But we must be going!"

"Hold on a second, Ishimaru." Kirigiri said, holding a hand up. "Besides breaking curfew, is Fukawa being brought in under any other charges?"

"None to speak of..."

"Fukawa," Kirigiri leaned slightly into her face, "If you don't mind answering, would you tell me what brought you out of your dorm at this hour?"

Fukawa hesitated, squirming slightly in Ishimaru's grasp, under Kirigiri's gaze- a gaze which stayed on her, unbroken, as long as she refused to answer.

Ishimaru broke through the silence, "She asked you a question!"

Fukawa hissed, "I _know_! I... I..." She grit her teeth, blocking the rest of her outburst from coming out, and looked to the side. "I was supposed to meet... someone..."

Kirigiri's eyebrows arched. It was the only indication as to what she might have been thinking. "Someone?" she repeated, sounding just a little too incredulous for Fukawa's taste.

"Y-yes..." Fukawa replied, signs of her anger infecting her face.

"There's someone else out of their room! After curfew?" Ishimaru exclaimed. "Who?"

"Please, Ishimaru," Kirigiri interjected.

Ishimaru calmed, but Fukawa noticed his grip on her arms tighten somewhat.

"I suspect it would be only one person for whom Fukawa would bother to venture out of her room at this time at night," Kirigiri said softly, placing a hand under her chin. "Fukawa?" she inquired seriously. "Was it Togami who arranged to meet with you?"

Fukawa grit her teeth, but nodded slowly, hoping he by now had realized she wasn't coming and had gotten out of the garden. Maybe he had gotten out, maybe if she could just keep them talking for a little longer, he wouldn't think she was so useless after all.

"May I see the summons?" Kirigiri held out her hand.

Fukawa looked to the outstretched gloved hand with irritation, but she couldn't think of anything else that would help her stall. Pulling Ishimaru's hand with her as she moved her arm, she reached into the front of her shirt and plucked from its recesses the creased-and-folded letter. She placed it, with shaking hands, into Kirigiri's still ones. Kirigiri pulled the letter back to herself after it was released into her grasp, fingers closing around it like the maw of a Venus Fly Trap.

Fukawa frowned as Kirigiri examined her precious letter, _defiling_ it by turning it over and over in her hands, scouring every inch with her unwelcome glance. That, however, would do nothing to Fukawa, compared to what was to come.

After a few seconds of this, Kirigiri raised her head and spoke. "This letter was not written by Byakuya Togami," she stated simply.

Fukawa's heart felt like it would crack upon hearing those words.

"It seems someone is playing a trick on you."

"What?" She breathed, horror swiftly catching up with her tone until it came out shrill, "How can you say that?"

"Byakuya Togami is the son of a very powerful family. He has been educated by the finest tutors available to him from an early age. It would be reflected in his writing, if it were real. This letter bares only the marks of someone attempting to pass themselves off as him."

Fukawa was silent as this sank in. She had no reason to doubt Kirigiri's words, but nevertheless she sought one, furiously, within the refuge of her mind.

"Ishimaru, I will escort Fukawa to my father's office. In the meantime, I would suggest you track down the ones who penned this letter and once you have done so, consider showing it to Byakuya Togami. I suspect he would be interested to know that someone forged his name on a document."

Fukawa squeaked.

"Is something wrong, Fukawa?"

"I-I-" horror wracked her conscious mind. "I d-don't WANT that shown to Master Byakuya... what will he think of me?"

"I doubt he will think of your predicament at all," Kirigiri mused softly, brushing away Fukawa's concerns with a sweeping hand gesture before turning to Ishimaru. "I will let my father know what has transpired, so there will be no need for you to file a report."

Ishimaru gave a curt nod. "How then would you, Super High School Level Detective, suggest I go about finding the culprits?" he inquired, earnest.

"I believe in each student's file there are samples of their handwriting. These should be filed on a database that is accessible to you, given your title. Access them via one of the computer stations and a quick comparison should unearth the source."

Ishimaru nodded, "I will find them, and justice will be served by morning!" he proclaimed so loudly the walls around them seemed to rattle.

Fukawa winced, but Kirigiri remained steadfast. "Very well, we will take our leave now. See you in class tomorrow, Ishimaru."  
Obeying unspoken cues, Fukawa followed behind Kirigiri as she departed down the hallway. She looked back once over her shoulder to see Ishimaru march off towards the library. She clicked her tongue inside her mouth and internally scoffed at the idiot.

Kirigiri spoke up, as if reading her thoughts. "He's only doing his job."

Fukawa's head snapped around. She let out a disgruntled noise and folded her arms across her chest. She strongly disliked being rebuked, even if she could admit that Kirigiri was right.  
Kirigiri continued, seemingly oblivious to Fukawa's current state and, judging by her next statement, evidently content to rub salt in her wounds. "Fukawa, if I may offer you some advice, I would suggest you divert your attention away from Togami. Your infatuation with him is unlikely to lead to a positive outcome, and is much more likely to yield despair."

Fukawa managed to supress her anger, thankfully, for at this moment it might have led to unsightly tears. She sniffed bitterly, "How would you know?"

Kirigiri never actually answered, which deeply irked Fukawa. The next few seconds housed only the sound of their footsteps on the linoleum floor. For no reason that she was conscious of, Fukawa felt obliged to fill in the gaps.

"I'll bet you never feel this way," Fukawa growled, surly temperment building. "I'll bet you never have to be burdened by the same, stupid feelings as everyone else. That emotionless mask you wear is your face. There's nothing underneath." Fukawa felt sick. She couldn't manage to stop the things that were coming out of her mouth, though she knew she probably shouldn't be saying them. "You don't know what it feels like to be this way, to have thoughts and feelings you can't control, that twist and burn inside of you, looking for a way out, leaving you with scars and holes in your chest when they finally do come out only to have your classmates ridicule you and force you to push everything down where..."

"Excuse me, Fukawa."

Her tone was metered and calm, but nevertheless Fukawa jumped, and braced herself, expecting Kirigiri to unload on her. After all, it would be what she deserved, wouldn't it?

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid this is where we must part ways."

Fukawa's insides sank. While glad she wasn't presently being chewed out, she knew that it was likely her outburst that had inspired this shift in Kirigiri's demeanor. This kind of thing happened so often with her, yet she was never able to bring herself to apologize. She scowled to herself and looked around, noticing that they were standing at the opening to the dormitory wing. A strange mixture of confusion, suspicion and relief swarmed Fukawa's mind and quickly took control of her mouth.

"What's going on?" she demanded, eyes darting around to make sure nothing caught her by surprise.

Kirigiri answered simply, "I brought you back to the dorms. I think it is best that you go and get some sleep."

Fukawa was almost rendered speechless. "B-B-but, I thought..." She shook her head violently, causing her braids to smack her in the side of the face. "I-I broke the rules. What about t-the..."

Kirigiri's eyebrows raised. "Ishimaru will find out who wrote the forged note, and my father will see to it that the responsible parties are punished."

Fukawa could only stare.

"Just to clarify, you're not in trouble."

Fukawa's eyes narrowed. She studied Kirigiri, wordlessly. The other woman tolerated this for a while, but eventually decided to excuse herself. "You have a way with words, Fukawa," she proclaimed as she departed. "It's unfortunate to see them so easily used against you."


End file.
